


Aspermere: Blessed Are the Meek

by Mlah Sihfay (Letterblade)



Series: the dark myst vignettes [6]
Category: Myst Series
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Murder, Treachery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-05
Updated: 2004-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Mlah%20Sihfay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sirrus falls in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aspermere: Blessed Are the Meek

**VI — Aspermere**

_Blessed Are the Meek_

 

"Two necklaces, a book of canticles, a bone vase from another world, five bracelets, enough rings to fill my hand, a new dress, more flowers than I can count..." The Princess Ananis, crown daughter of the white city of Aspermere, looked down at her hand, at the delicate outline of a stylized sun drawn in fading purple ink on her skin by a dashing foreign prince. "I wish I knew how to respond. I've been courted before, but never with such urgency."

"Tell him what you feel, Ani."

Ananis looked over into the pensive dark face. Masi, a quiet presence in a dove-gray gown, her long hair curled at the nape of her neck, had stopped her work, a sure sign of worry, though the embroidered silk was still spread out over her lap.

"I don't know what I feel yet. I barely know him." Ananis looked back at her hand. The curtains fluttered in the wind and the silver-veined leaves of the potted plants swayed, and Masi watched her with tender care. "It was not the way I imagined things being. He is less subtle than the men of the court. Such lavishness is forward, is untoward. I suppose I am coddled, but never quite like this. He even has a pet name for me already. But..."

"But?"

"He could win my heart easily."

"I remember sitting up a tree with you when we were both children, and you telling me that you were a princess, after all, and some day a prince would come for you, bearing gifts and kisses."

Ananis laughed, remembering the sunlit days of playing in the palace gardens, the days of Ani and Masi, the princess and the handmaiden's daughter running wild side by side--Masi, as old as Ani's own sister Hadasi, but without the high intellect and complex ways of the other princess. Masi, her closest friend, her one confidante, growing up into a humble and melancholy dignity even as the princess herself continued to shine innocent as the sun. "And then," Ananis said, lilting as if telling a fairy tale, "I found a ring, and hung it about my neck, and said I'd never have a prince. That I could be a princess all by myself, just with Hadasi and my brothers."

"You were a silly child, Ani," said Masi, a teasing smile lining her face.

"All children are silly." She looked out the window, at the rolling white grass and silver trees of Aspermere. "If they aren't, they hardly can be called children."

"What did you do with the ring?"

"Oh, I still have it. Maybe I'll give it to him."

Masi, the sort of woman nervous about idle hands, picked up her needlework again, teasing out and twisting and couching rich braid and hair-spun thread with capable and knobble-knuckled brown fingers.

"The man is from another world, Ani," she said. "And you are a princess of the royal family. He cannot stay here forever, and your marriage is important to your people."

Ananis sighed and watched a ring of children dancing under the sun.

"My people wish for my happiness as much as I wish for theirs. If it comes that we truly love each other...even if we must be separated from time to time, as he goes about his affairs and I mine, I think things can be all right." She reached for a jewelry box and pulled out a plain copper ring. "Perhaps I will give it to him tomorrow, and tell him the story. A suitor like this deserves a chance."

"Will our people accept him?"

Ananis looked at her friend for a long moment, unsure of what to say, and unsure of where her faint doubt came from.

"They accepted his father," she said finally. "But I do not think he shall have to ride on the merits of his family forever."

They did not speak for a while, in the comfortable silence of old friends. Ananis turned the ring over and over in her hand and basked in the warmth of the sun on her shoulders and the back of her neck, bare from the low cut of her dress and her upswept hair, and Masi sewed, murmuring quietly under her breath--fragments of stories and songs and the old wife's lore of the country that she loved.

"The maid came upon a winnower, tossing spilled wheat on a full-moon night. Silver it flew under the starry sky, and the wond'ring maid watched it swirling high. The winnower gave the maid some chaff and bade her eat it and watched her laugh. The pretty stuff cannot feed even a bird. The winnower gave the maid a seed, fine gray grain kings for to feed. This is the grain that will give you life. The winnower sang the maid a song and told the tale of Sir Holmer the Wrong, the snow stained by blood and blackened love. The winnower spoke of the spinning woman, the werewolf, the hearth, the married woman..."

"Masi?"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if I made a holograph of you today? The light is perfect, and my last holograph of you was from several years ago."

"Oh, not at all." Masi smiled at her friend. Ananis reached into her desk for a static holographer, a small, simple device that would record a single unmoving image. Masi set her needlework aside and straightened.

"No, no," Ananis said. "Do what you were doing. It's far more like you than a posed holograph."

"As you wish, my lady," said Masi with a sly smile. She picked up her needlework again and took a few stitches.

"Oh, relax," laughed Ananis as she prepared to capture the portrait. "Why did that maiden wander off in the first place, anyway?"

"Hm?"

"The maiden in that story."

"She had just realized that all the pretty things her suitor gave her were holographs, and she ran from the house in tears."

Ananis laughed, propped the holographer on a table, and clicked the button.

* * *

"So I hear you've been in Aspermere."

With a rustle of his braid-buckled jacket, Sirrus settled himself on the steps leading up to the largest tree of Myst, elbows on knees, and looked up at Catherine where she stood next to the cabin.

"It's a wonderful place, Mother."

"I've never been there. What does it look like, that you're so fond of it?"

"Well..." Sirrus closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the sea breeze of Myst, gathering his words. Just like when he was small. _What do you see, Sirrus?_ That's what Atrus would always ask him. Meaningless, but a game he could play. _What do you see?_ "All the foliage is white or silver--some of the trees look like they're coated with silver-leaf. The sky is a fine light blue during the day. A soft haze usually blows in at night, so then the sky is like gray velvet. But if it doesn't, there are plenty of stars. The stonework of the palace is all white, too, white and pale gray marble with silver inlays. Most of the buildings are circular or hexagonal, like great wheels, all in many layers, with balconies and towers. I wonder if Father ever managed to get any floor plans--he'd have his nose in them for hours."

Catherine made a wry smile. "I think he did. It was one of those days when I had to remind him to eat."

"Though a plan of the stonework itself is only half good. Holographs are everywhere, worked into the structures themselves." He scratched his short reddish hair with a laugh. "I've had to get used to seeing people walk through walls."

Catherine laughed aloud. "I haven't seen you this excited about an Age in a long time," she said, sounding just a smidgen smug.

"Well, I feel at home there. It's just my kind of place."

"It's still good to have you home once in a while." That was in the teasing tone she used, when she knew she shouldn't be pestering her grown boys like they were children, but did it anyway, because she was their mother.

"Oh, of course."

"Do you think you'll stay in Aspermere long?"

"As much as I can. I've been very busy recently--I have things to do in quite a few Ages. But Aspermere...as I said, I feel at home."

"Are you getting along well with the court?" Catherine, Sirrus had come to realize, had a detailed memory for everything Atrus ever told her of his Ages, so despite the fact that she so rarely traveled, she seemed to know everything important about any of them--including, apparently, the court of Aspermere.

"Oh, yes. They throw excellent parties."

Catherine smiled tolerantly. "But it is more than the parties you like, I assume."

"Well, of course. Tisha's there."

"Tisha?"

He nodded.

"The woman I love."

* * *

It was at the party that night, in a room full of lavishly dressed nobles tipsy on sweet wine, that she first kissed him on the cheek. His expression, awestruck and giddy, made her have to sit down to giggle.

"You look like a frog."

"Well, you're magnificent," he said, his normally arch voice having acquired a bit of a slur. "I have a right to be flattered." He sketched a wavering bow where he sat.

"And you're drunk," she said primly, smoothing down the gold-stitched ruffles on her skirt.

Then she saw the gold chain around his neck, on it strung a weathered copper ring. Her eyes went wide for a moment, and she remembered all in a flash sitting with him on a bench in the gardens and telling him about being a little princess, teasing him with her childish independence, pressing the ring into his hand.

"You kept it?"

"Of course." He rose, took one of her hands, and somehow made a proper bow so as to kiss it. "Anything from my lady I would keep."

She could not keep herself from laughing.

"You're outrageous."

"You're the one who kissed me."

"I wanted to see what you would do."

"Is that all?" His face didn't fall; he was too drunk to register the slight disappointment.

"I...no." She gestured at him imperiously. "Ask me to dance."

"What?"

"They're just starting an excellent song. I know it well. Ask me to dance."

He paused, still with wonder. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks pink from the wine; her cloud blue silk dress rode off her shoulders and left the white skin between them bare to showcase a shining pendant, then fell in a magnificent swirl and train to the floor. Her hair was twined in a jeweled net, a long brown lock free and swinging charmingly by the side of her face; she was wearing one of his gifts, a white-gold bracelet set with lava crystals from Shimar. She was beautiful, refined, elegant, sweet, a creature out of dreams and stories, and here she was beckoning to join her

_My lovely. Tisha. You are everything._

Sirrus decided life couldn't be better, so he bowed, asked her into the dance, and then swept her off across the marble floor.

* * *

"Ah, there you are." Sirrus looked up to see Ananis standing in the door of his room, and his eyes lit up. She was in a day dress in the morning light, long and white and modest, and held a small book in one hand, the leather cover tooled with gold. "I found this in my room," she said, showing him the frontspiece. "It's a collection of old folk songs. There was one in here that reminded me of you."

"Really?"

"Because your family are writers, and...well, I suppose I want to know if it really is as close to your thoughts as I imagine it to be." She turned fine gilt-edged pages, murmuring the names of the working songs and nature verses and ballads she passed, until she found the brief, uncannily elegant poem she'd been reading with Masi earlier that day. "It seemed so like something you would say." She looked up at him, at the way he watched her, and blushed. "And now I feel silly."

"Could you read it aloud?" he asked, hope in his eyes. "Or sing it?"

"Well, then," she said, embarrassed, "why not?" She sat on his bed with a rustle of skirts and held the book to catch the sunlight coming in from the window. "They call it 'Ink,' although it never really had a name, of course. It's one of the oldest of the songs here." She cleared her throat and began to sing, her voice warm and steady, the melody unfolded, measured and pleading. " _Give me pen and ink and paper. I have countless words to write. All for you, my greatest treasure, you my lone and shining light._ "

Sirrus curled contentedly against her, his head in her lap, as she began the chorus.

" _For the stones will run like water, and the stream take flight above, and the sun shine black and dying, 'ere you cease to be my love._ "

"Beautiful," he whispered, and she stopped, too embarrassed to go on to the second verse.

"And?"

"You're right," he said, sure that he spoke true. "It is as if I said it." He reached for the book. "There's more--let me see... _All my my life my soul I squandered._ " A smile grew on his face, and he rolled to sit up. " _All my time was passed in vain._ " Ananis laughed, pink-cheeked, and shoved at him, and they tumbled over together on the rumpled bed. " _'Til I found you smiling for me._ " Mischievous as a child, she rolled him on his back and sat on his legs, and he still held the book so very carefully. " _Let us not be split--_ " She kissed him full on the mouth, silencing him, and he trembled to stillness beneath her, and the book fell unheeded to the bedspread.

"Do not speak those words quite yet, Prince Sirrus," she whispered, almost seriously, her warm breath tickling his face.

"Then when?"

She rolled off of him, and they lay in silence for quite some time--but not an uncomfortable one, merely unsure.

"Could any of those courtiers speak that poem to you and mean it?" he asked softly at last.

She looked away for a long while, and then rolled back to watch him. "No," she said. "No. They could not. Our people do not desire in the way you do."

"Why?"

She closed her eyes, searching her memory. " _Blessed are those who live content with their lot, for greed and ambition are the source of all evil._ " Ancient sayings of Aspermere, proven and confirmed by war after bloody war, until the exhausted survivors fell desperate into truce. " _Blessed is this land of plenty, for such is its yield that none need go hungry, that none need struggle for life._ " Until the new palace was raised, the new city made white and pure under the sun, and every child had been raised on those words. " _Blessed is the miracle of holography, for such is its beauty that gold and jewels need no longer be striven for._ " Until peace and plenitude spread over the land. " _Blessed are the humble, blessed are the meek, for in their hearts happiness is found, and all their ways are peace._ "

Silence fell. Sirrus stared at the ceiling, and Ananis thought that it was terror she saw haunting his eyes, but told herself it could not be. Finally she kissed him on the forehead, and sat up, and made a vain attempt to smooth her mussed hair. Sirrus curled back into his lap, and the tension and worry began to ease. After more silence, she spoke again, curious.

"You said one day that you've been searching for me all your life. What did you mean?"

"I mean that I've known since I was little more than a child what kind of woman I would love. I thought I found her not long after that, when I was a young man, in a world called Narayan--I even wed the girl. She was lovely, and adorably shy, and had hair the color of spun gold. But she betrayed me, kept herself from me. After her I courted others, still seeking, but none of them ever came close. It was as if I were chasing a sunbeam by matching its holograph to the face of every beautiful woman I found. But then I finally found a perfect match."

"Me?"

"Who else?" Sirrus closed his eyes and let her stroke his hair. "I have no one else."

* * *

Time passed, and Sirrus passed it on Aspermere, in the easy wealth and friendship of the royal court, and, of course, with Ananis. They traded their thoughts through poems and music; he honed his writing skills and she her violin. They went for long walks with hardly a word passed between them, and kissed in the gardens in the evening, and slowly, with the restraint of nobility and the humility of Aspermere, she opened her heart to him. They rarely conversed at real length, which Ananis sometimes thought strange, but it did not worry her, so she would unburden herself on Masi instead, babbling about love and the future while the other woman sat patiently sewing.

One night, as Sirrus lay awake staring at the ceiling, Ananis stirred in her sleep, then rose from his side and padded naked about the room. She stood and stared out the far window, her dark hair loose about her shoulders, her pale skin glowing in the wan light that filtered through the window. Like a woman in a painting, expression inscrutable, an image of beauty and of a will unknowable.

 _I do not know what she is looking at_ , Sirrus thought. _I do not know what she is thinking. But I know..._ Sirrus lifted his hand into the beam of moonlight from the window above the bed, and it cast an eerie shadow of his fingers across the room. It covered Ananis' figure in bars of dark and light, large enough to wrap around her; she still watched the window, unaware of the phantom hand upon her body.

_I know what she is. Tisha, it's come true. The dream has come true._

* * *

"Ani."

Ananis looked up; she'd been standing by a column in the shaded walkway of the cloister garden, looking upon the garden and deep in thought. Masi stood by an arched doorway, a soft gray shawl wrapped around her shoulders, a sprig of sweet-smelling leaves stuck in her hair.

"Masi." She smiled. "Walk with me."

Masi nodded, and the two women began to stroll down the portico, their skirts trailing on the smooth-jointed stone.

"How are you?" Masi asked.

"Well."

"And Sirrus?"

"Also well."

Silence.

"I've gotten more words out of you on most days by waving my finger," Masi said dryly.

Ananis laughed faintly. "I'm sorry. I was thinking."

"So maybe you need me to help you think."

Silence.

"Why does he call you Tisha?" Masi asked.

Ananis looked over her shoulder at her.

"It's a term of endearment. A pet name he's been calling me since the beginning. Silly, really, but I don't mind."

"Ah."

Silence.

"Why are you more suspicious of him than I?" Ananis asked quietly.

Masi still didn't meet her friend's eyes. "Because of his brother," she said quietly. _And more,_ she thought, _but let it be the brother for now._

Ananis laughed.

"Only that?" She quieted. "Did you meet Atrus when he came?" Masi shook her head. "He's a good man, Masi. Maybe one of the best men I've ever met. And good men raise good sons. That's why I trust Sirrus."

"Then what about his brother?"

Ananis was silent for a moment.

"I was thinking about him myself, yesterday. He's sullen, uncouth, and seems to have an unpleasant personality. And that _giggle._ " She gave an elegant shudder, a lady offended. "But I remember my father telling me about an uncle he had once, a recluse whom everyone thought horrid. He'd gone to talk to him once, when he was little more than a boy, and realized that he wasn't a bad person--he just wasn't skilled at dealing with people. People like that happen every once in a while."

"So that's what you think Achenar is."

"Yes. It must be hard for him, to be like that and having the brother and father that he does--I imagine they overshadow him constantly."

They walked in silence round the corner of the cloister and behind the shade of a stand of green-leafed trees--a rarity from the mountains, and carefully cultivated. Even now a gardener was crouched among the trunks, digging carefully in the soil to bury the gray mountains stones that their roots wrapped round.

"Did you ever meet their mother?" Masi asked at last.

"No. She doesn't travel much."

"Perhaps she is like Achenar?"

Ananis shook her head with a laugh. "Not from the stories Atrus tells. He's desperately in love with her, and has been for a long time. The way he tells it, she single-handedly saved his soul." A distant smile touched Ananis' face, a smile of one considering other worlds. "I would love to meet her one day. Perhaps I shall, if Sirrus and I choose to marry."

Masi stopped midstep and stared at her friend, her face tight with surprise.

"Are you considering it, then?" she said at last.

Ananis drew a deep breath. "Yes. I am sorry, Masi. I should have told you earlier."

Masi steadied herself, and continued walking. "Sooner than I am expected," she said, more calmly than she felt.

"There are reasons," said Ananis quietly. Masi watched her friend's face for a long moment.

"If you have worries, Ani...if you need somebody to talk to...ask me. Please."

Ananis brightened.

"I will, Masi. You know I always do."

* * *

Later that day, Masi sat in her humble, comfortable room, sewing in the afternoon light and humming an old ballad to herself. The tiny stitches unfolded across the cloth, couching tight together in shining curves of color, leaves and flowers and twining stems--each one her labor and her livelihood, each one formed with infinite and practiced care.

_I wonder if Ananis thinks of her people the same way. So many, sometimes so small, but each one important._

She shortened her stitches, following the curve of a rose's petal and made the last few tiny tuck-stitches, almost invisible, with quick nips of the needle into the fine silk.

_I know Sirrus doesn't._

She tucked the thread underneath and bit off the end, then paused for a moment, her needle tucked safely into the pincushion on the arm of her chair, and fingered the tiny hole in her right ear--a bride's piercing, as was the custom of the city, to hold the single gem that marked a married woman. But hers had never born an earring. It had started to close, and she wondered at times if it might even vanish completely.

 _Vadessen_ , she thought, but allowed herself only the name--no memories of him, his charm, his handsome grace, his betrayal, his desertion.

She started laying the new color in, a loop-stitched outline of red on pink blossoms. It was well-dyed thread, so rich a color that she could prick her finger and bleed upon it and it would not change.

" _Promise me wild roses_ ," she sang quietly. " _While the world lies asleep he's playing in the evening._ "

 _Ananis is a clever girl, but she sees Sirrus so differently than I._ She closed her eyes for a moment, spinning the needle around in her hand, then untwisted the thread and laid another tiny loop over the silk. _Does he care for human life? Is he capable of hate?_ She shivered, and her needle tugged at the cloth, opening a tiny hole. _Will she become like him?_

She teased the weft back into place with the eye of the needle.

 _We played together as children, Ani and I. When did I become so much older than her?_ She drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh _. Perhaps an unfaithful man can turn any maid into a bitter old woman at heart._ She shook her head, not quite daring to look at the little cameo portrait of Vadessen still hanging by the window, and bent her head low over her work.

 _She speaks to me less than she used to, and I worry that she will not listen to me if I advise her to be wary of Sirrus. Perhaps I am lax, perhaps I should try to convince her._ She shook her head and stopped her singing. _But I am good at listening, nothing more. And I cannot make these decisions for her. She is as much a woman as I, after all, and I am not her teacher. Merely her friend._

"Masi."

Masi looked up. Ananis was in the doorway, her hair tied up carelessly in an embroidered scarf, and a very solemn look in her eyes.

"I wasn't going to tell anybody at all, even Sirrus, but I need to tell you, because it's very important, and I tell you important things, and I have to tell somebody before I burst."

Masi set aside her sewing and took a long, steady look at her friend, then nodded.

"There's only one thing which could be that important," she said quietly.

Ananis shut the door securely, then turned, leaned against it, took a deep breath, and said, "I am with child."

"Sit down," said Masi, gesturing towards the other armchair. "We need to talk."

* * *

_This is an experiment._

Sirrus set the pen down, looked at the four words laid black upon the paper, then fed the scrap to the fire burning merrily in the hearth beside him. He ran his thumb down the filaments of the quill, watching them separate and hook back together, a little more ragged each time. Then he wrote, again.

_I cannot ever afford to keep a journal. What if it were found? A ruler must keep his secrets close. Yet now I wish I had one. So I will keep one, but ever so briefly._

He'd torn a pile of blank sheets into small strips. Now he gave that line to the fire as well, and poised his pen over the next piece.

 _My brother._ He paused. _My brother is a gibbering, incompetent idiot. Worse than that. I cannot control him. He can undermine me._ His hand shook slightly as he wrote. _He terrifies me. There are times I fear that one day he might kill me._

He closed his eyes as he fed that page to the flames.

_But it would be unthinkable to let the idiot know how much he scares me. I must maintain face. I am sane, after all. I am perfectly normal. I cannot let him think he can have the better of me._

A second strip of Achenar to the fire.

_Someday I must find a way to throw the fear into him. Properly, entirely. If I am to have his cooperation..._

A third, and then he paused, set his pen down, picked it back out.

_I am not good at putting my feelings in words. I am surprised by this. Words are my greatest tool. I can use them to destroy entire civilizations. But when it comes to writing about myself, there is not much. Perhaps kings never have much to say about themselves. Perhaps they are creatures of action, not recording._

He frowned at that, then tossed it into the fire. He'd promised himself that this would be a normal journal.

_Small matters: I believe it will soon be time to shift the battles in Mechanical to the offensive, at least as much as is possible with a stationary base, a small number of fighters, and one ship. They are beginning to fear us, and it is an incalculable advantage. Perhaps bring in fighters from another Age? But then would have to worry about introducing savages to the Art. I shall have to spend more time there, however. If we are to continue the war, it must become my primary matter. Perhaps I should introduce Tisha to the Age, such that she can visit me._

That worry set down, he gave it to the flames.

_Achenar mentioned Everdunes again recently. I do not understand his fascination. It is simply foolish for a people to prophecy their own destruction. They were lost in the sandstorms, nothing more. Monsters like that don't exist._

He stared at that, taken aback, then dropped it into the fire. At the next sheet, he stopped dead.

_What is a normal journal, anyway, for one such as myself?_

He immediately gave that to the flames, but then had to confront another blank page. He was still for a long moment.

_What do I know about myself?_

He paused for a long time, staring at those words.

 _I will never be a writer. I spend my time collecting my assets and indulging my appetites. I have not the time nor the patience to learn the Art. I told Father this a long time ago, but he didn't believe me._ He paused again. _Why is the first thing I think of the Art?_

He answered that question by dropping it into the fire.

 _I am a man in love. It is a lovely thing to be._ He smiled at that, smug in his wordplay, then dropped it to burn.

 _I am...I am...it does not matter if I write like an idiot. Nobody shall ever read it. Nobody._ He looked at the strips of white crusting into ashes on the hearth. _I shall never write. I shall never keep journals. I shall never dream. I shall never go mad. I am nothing like the rest of my family._

That went into the fire, and he faced another page.

_I do what I must to get what I need. I may take a few shortcuts here and there, and my refined taste can be a burden on primitive cultures, but I mean no real harm to them._

He stared at that for a long time, then tossed it to the grate and took another sheet. Excuses. Tired old excuses. Perhaps they were all he had.

_No. I do not care. I have never cared. I desire, that is all. I desire wealth, gold, jewels, lavish things. I desire the game of power. With all my soul, I desire. Do not all of us? I merely am born to it. The Books, the Ages. Is it not my right?_

His hand shook; ink blotted on the paper.

_I have never tried to care. I have never seen the need to care. I have never been able to care._

He tore that in half before he dropped it on the fire.

 _Tisha, Tisha, I care about you._ The scratch of the pen suddenly seemed horribly loud. _Please believe me. I care._

She was watching him. He was alone, the door was locked, but he was sure she was watching. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and the pen clattered to the table.

 _Is this what it's like to be my brother?_ he thought distantly. _Seeing eyes where none look and being unable to control even your hands?_

"I know."

It was the very faintest whisper, and then she was gone.

Sirrus slumped back in his chair, gasping for breath. He didn't even try to think of what he'd heard; he was alone, totally alone, had been all along. He knew that. His head was pounding.

_She knows._

He shook his head, slightly dizzy, and laid both hands on the table as if assuring himself of its reality. Guilt, nothing more. A hallucination of shame, brought on by a sort of truth-searching he was unaccustomed to. Nothing more. He was the prince, he was the king, he was free to do as he pleased. He swore to himself that it would be all right. That he would remain, his treasured self, untouched by the storm of fear, the tempest of uncertainty.

_She knows._

He stood, slowly, and paced around the empty room.

_I think I am going mad._

"No," he said sharply, aloud. It echoed off the marble walls. He turned on his heel and sat, locking away his fear, burying any question of his sanity, his rights, his love. With his hands still shaking slightly, he tossed his pleas of care into the fire and wrote, _I shall not do this again._

* * *

"Ani?"

Masi had been gone for some time, traveling outside the palace to visit her aging parents in their country home--an obligation, unavoidable. Ananis had been off as well, traveling with Sirrus, but she had promised to return.

"Ananis?"

She knocked again, then took a breath and nudged the unlocked door open. There was no voice from within, only the rattling of a branch upon a closed window.

"She's always home in the morning..." Masi poked her head in and took a look around. Everything seemed in order, tidy as always, although a thin coat of dust lay over the polished desk of golden wood. She was about to close the door and leave to look for the princess when she caught site of her name own, written in address on a sheath of paper that lay on the desk.

Masi slipped inside, closed the door behind her, and went over to the desk. It was Ananis' hand, Ananis' royal seal at the top.

"Sirrus," she whispered, achingly sure that something terrible had happened, that he had done something to her, betrayed her or abandoned her, perhaps even hurt her. Yet there was nothing to do but read. She sat down heavily and held the paper to the sun, cold to the bone.

_To Masi, my dearest friend,_

_I'll be gone for a few days. I hope I'll be able to return. If I don't, everything you need to know is it this letter. Keep it safe. I'm going to visit Sirrus in the world called Mechanical, to give him a present._

_I haven't confided in you properly for several months, and that was because I was beginning to understand things that I didn't even dare to admit to myself. And it's gotten so much worse in the past week, and you were away, and I could hardly get away from Sirrus. I barely even know where to begin._

_I did have a chance meet Sirrus' mother, Catherine. She is beautiful in face, voice, and mind, and that is as much as I can say without seeming as in love with her as Atrus is. No evil stems from her, be sure of that. When I asked her about her children, she was silent for too long, and then told me that they didn't come home often, that she didn't know them well anymore. Apparently this is far less startling in her world than in ours, but it still gave me pause._

_I have spoken more with Achenar. I fear that my assumptions about him were dreadfully wrong, though I perhaps I overreact. Perhaps he is merely envious of his brother when it comes to me, for he did not seem to have a lover of his own, but he threatened and intimidated me at every turn, mocking me by the name Sirrus gave me. And his manner is more than uncertainty or awkwardness. I venture to say that it is madness. Sirrus forbade me to visit his chambers, and I am too afraid of what I might find there to be curious, only worried about what it might mean that he felt he had to do so. But Achenar is a lesser worry._

_I am not sure I will be able to explain fully what went wrong, what festered, between Sirrus and myself. Love and the black things that can corrupt it are too vast to describe in the little time I have. But there are a few things, most important, which I have come to realize about him, and for these things alone, never minding the sorrow he's caused my own and single heart, I would denounce him._

_He is greedy, power-hungry, the kind of noble who places his own wealth before the lives of his people. He has no self-restraint and little honesty. He hides this greed well, brilliantly; he's hidden it from me for more than a year, and from his parents all his life. But I have seen it, and with terrible clarity: the lavishness with which he lives on other worlds, and his boasts of how he obtained his gold and fine things, by heavy taxes and cruelty, even by murder, have startled me to the core. It as if he has forgotten who and what I am, a woman of our blessed white city which is built on humility, which decries ambition. He runs off at the mouth, bragging of his greed, as if his bloated wealth is meant to impress me. He can hide it in Aspermere, for he is a chameleon of a man, taking on customs and hiding behind traditions which contradict his voracious nature. And it seems he has hidden it from his parents for all his life. He is a master deceiver, and when I realized this I did not wonder any longer that he has hidden his greed from me for this long. As a princess of our people, it shames me that I love him._

_And yet that is only one part of the matter. His greed is the offense to my morality, to the goodness of our world. And greed is a flaw of morality, is a flaw of the higher thinking. Yet--and this is what I have suspected in nightmares and dark thoughts for so long--he possesses a deeper flaw, one of love. He says he loves me. And the most frightening thing, I think, is that he believes it true. He has promised to marry me, to spend his life with me, to never abandon me, and, in a strange sort of way, he has promised true. But his words, even the most honest words he is capable of, betray him, because he does not know who I am._

_You asked me once if he'd ever called me by my given name. At the time I said I wasn't sure. I have since gone over in my memory every moment I've spent with him. He has never spoken my true name. Not once. For a while, I dismissed his nickname as a silly pet name, nothing more. And I similarly dismissed his ramblings on how I am the one who perfectly fits an ideal he's been chasing all his life. I told you of that, I am sure, and I am sure you remember. It took me so long--perhaps too long--to put things together, to admit to the truth. He's a madman, perhaps as much as his brother, perhaps more so. He loves me not because of who I am but because I match some mad vision he has of his perfect woman. That is why he calls me Tisha; he neither knows nor cares what I truly am, and yet he is such a serpent of a pretender that he seems to be in love with me. And I fear that when he realizes that I am not the dream but a real woman, he will throw me away, or worse._

_This is as much as I can say of him for now. I loathe him, yet I have not yet given him or anybody else a single sign, out of, I will confess, sheer uncertainty and fear. I have played a secret game with myself for these past few months, but now it is time to tell those people close to me. You, through this letter. Sirrus, when I visit him._

_I remember Atrus telling me once of his father, Gehn, who I gather was as mad as Sirrus or his brother, or worse. Yet Gehn's parents, Aitrus and Ti'ana if memory serves, were good people, and Ti'ana raised young Atrus after his father's abandonment and his grandfather's death. That family goes rotten every other generation. Masi, you and you alone know that I am bearing his child. Keep this a secret. Let no one know. A royal bastard babe would complicate matters beyond unraveling. I think, if I and the baby survive, I shall give it to Atrus and Catherine, so that they can raise the next good generation unstained by the rotten one. And then I shall return here, find a sane husband to take before the throne, and live, I pray, as I have before._

_If I do not survive, which I unreasonably fear might come to pass, take this letter and read it well. And, if I do not return, I make a last request of you, as my friend and as the bearer of my news: caution my people, our people, about Sirrus and Achenar. And live well without me, as I know you can._

_I am going to visit Sirrus with a holograph I made for him, the news of our child, and a knife. I may very well kill him. If I do, may the sun have mercy upon me._

_I can only hope I will be able to reaffirm our friendship in person, but I have been taught to take precautions, so this is mine. My friendship with you has not waned these past few months, I promise you that. I care for you and value your care as much as ever. If you believe me in anything today, believe me in this. I was simply too frightened and uncertain to speak with you of these matters, and things might have gone better if I had, but that time has passed._

_I'm sorry, Masi. I should have listened to you long ago, but that was not your fault. I was a silly child; perhaps now I'm growing up._

_I give you the best gift I can, friend of my heart. I took it from Sirrus as he slept._

_With love, from Ananis._

An old copper ring slipped out of the paper where it was folded and into Masi's hand.

"A week," she whispered. The date at the top blurred before her eyes. "She's been away for a week."

She was terribly sure that Ananis was dead, but she carefully refolded the letter and set it out of harm's way before she allowed her tears to fall.

The next day, Masi stood boldly up before the throne and, in the name of the Princess Ananis, told everyone the truth.

* * *

The holograph of the skull flickered off.

"That is what happened, Sirrus. That is what happened. I can never forgive you now."

Silence.

"Ever since I met you, I thought it would be wonderful to be in love with you. You were dashing and handsome and exotic, and every girl in the court had her eyes on you, but you watched only me. What a flattering time that was, for me to be allowed to be yours. But you refused to take responsibility."

Silence.

"Sirrus, you're power-hungry, greedy, and a liar. You know I'm pregnant, yet you have refused to marry me."

Silence.

"You love who you think I am. I was like a doll for you to put a soul into, because you had an idea that I somehow matched. I was your greatest bauble."

Silence, except for Sirrus making a faint croaking noise.

"Say something."

Silence, except for the sound of a knife being drawn out of a pocket in a rustling skirt.

"Say something!"

"Tisha..."

Metal flashed through the air and Sirrus screamed, wordless, in pain.

"My name's Ananis!"

It was the last thing she ever said to him, because, at the scream, Achenar came running from the other room, ax in hand.

* * *

"Well," said Sirrus dryly, setting the linking book aside and dusting off his hands, "now that we've taken care of Mechanical, I have matters to attend to, and I would like your assistance."

"Aspermere," said Achenar heavily, glaring at him out of baggy dark-rimmed eyes. "Going to take revenge?"

"Exactly, dear brother. I have returned there briefly already, and there is work that needs to be done."

"How many do you want me to kill?"

"Not many."

Achenar gave him a disappointed look. "What are you planning to do?"

Sirrus smiled.

"Remember Narayan?" Achenar nodded. "Remember how we tore them apart?" Achenar nodded again. "I think it's been too long since we started a war."

Achenar gave a soft, high laugh.

"They're complacent," Sirrus went on. "Weak and complacent. They are convinced that they live without greed and ambition. Without a desire for power, without strife. We're going to prove them wrong, dear brother. Throw them into fear, start even the faintest hint of a conflict, and all their goodness will come tumbling down. I'm sure of it. They aren't even worth ruling."

"And how much does this have to do with your Tisha?"

Sirrus' mouth turned into a thin line, and his eyes were murderous.

"None of your business," he said flatly, then dropped a list of names in front of his brother. "Key nobles. Once they're gone, it'll be relatively easy to turn the remaining courtiers against themselves I'll be working on that even as you're taking care of the assassinations. I'll dress you so you look inconspicuous--just don't make too much noise. You can be gruesome if you like, but be careful, and they can't all die at once. Most of them should be gone before king's council next week."

"Not my favorite kind of work," said Achenar.

"But it has to be done," Sirrus said flatly.

"By your standards, maybe. But I'll humor you, little brother. At least I get to play a little." Achenar rose to go, giving Sirrus a playful knock over the head as he did so. He paused in the door to look over his shoulder. "Just remember, these people would never have died without your order."

Sirrus smiled thinly.

"That doesn't bother me. And if it bothers you, then I'll just have to kill you."

Achenar burst into giggles and left.

* * *

It was even easier than Sirrus had imagined to tear apart Aspermere's power structure. When the foreign prince accused of Ananis' murder plied the council hall with every ounce of charm he possessed, pitted against a dour spinster speaking only on the word of a letter she refused to reveal, the court split with uncertainty and superstition. The Princess Hadasi retreated in mourning and spoke to no one, and the two princes lurked anxiously by their father's throne, bound as he was by the statues of royal neutrality. The Queen's Guard, fanatically loyal to Ananis, wished to have Sirrus' head right off, while the Justiciers rambled on about lack of evidence, extradition, and fair trial; within a week, they were at each other's throats. Those were just two of the factions: Sirrus breathed new life into a a feud between two ducal families that dated back to the invention of holography, and when the handsome young son of one of them was found dead as if killed in a duel, outright war broke out between the families, for none had seen Achenar run the boy through with a stolen rapier.

Sirrus pleaded innocence and spread his hands wide and kept himself blindingly in the public eye while nobles died, one by one, and nobody could suspect him of murders that had been committed while he stood in testimony before the king himself. But there were those loyal to him, those charmed by him, and it was the protection of the guard of the Count Lamar that kept him from being assassinated himself, just as the Queen's Guard protected Masi. And it was Count Lamar who first accused the Prince Deriden of blood treachery when the elder Prince Isbet was found dead, beaten bloody and strangled with his own chain of office--Achenar's handiwork, but he had remained as yet unseen--and when that challenge rang through the council hall, utter chaos was held back only by the ringing command of the king, for nothing but that could have saved them from battle.

There was just one thing left to do.

In the late evening, after all the court had retired raging and scheming to their chambers, two black-cloaked figures stalked down the royal corridor, leaving death in their wake.

The guards of the Aspermere court were trained for show duty and parades, not for defense against an experienced warrior and a quick-handed assassin. Their reflexes were slow, their offenses weak, their defenses vulnerable. The king had been careful, in this time of strife, but even the best of the white city were no match for the brothers.

Achenar shoved his bloody knife between the great inlaid outer doors of the royal bedchamber, sprung the latch, and kicked them open with a swirl of black cloth. The last two guards stared back at them, their young faces lined with fear under their plumed helmets, and their hands tightened on their pikes.

"Turn back," one of them said, his voice shaking. "By the will of the King Bedaiyon, turn back."

"Only two guards for the king," one of the strangers murmured, his voice--familiar--dripping scorn. "Brother..."

The first of the guards died before he could move, but the second, sidestepping and swiping in vain, recognized the face under the hood as the elder son of Atrus, and he suddenly believed everything Masi had said, but the knife was already in his heart.

"I'll do this," Sirrus said quietly, gesturing towards the door and tossing aside the bloody dirk he'd carried down the corridor. Achenar let out a high hiccup of a giggle.

"Enjoy yourself, little brother."

Sirrus turned on his heel, ignoring his brother's scorn, and opened the inner door. Achenar sighed and waited in the vestibule, running his thumb along the still-warm blood on the blade of his dagger.

The king's bedchamber was paneled with garnet-veined marble, the rarest of all, with the coat of arms worked in gold and silver on the far wall and the walls carved and traceried in precious stones. The old man himself, tall and grave and gentle, was sitting in an armchair, a book open in his lap. His dinner was laid out before him, stone cold and as yet untouched but for the glass of wine on the side table beside his chair. The tablecloth was black, as was his surcoat and the tapestries--mourning for his two murdered children.

"King Bedaiyon."

He looked up to see Sirrus standing before him, his black cloak falling to the richly carpeted floor.

"Sirrus," he said softly, surprise and fear showing only in his eyes. "So you are behind this after all." He marked the page and set the book aside with a wistful look. "I suppose you have come to kill me."

"How else is one to destroy the city?" Sirrus said, raising his chin. The king shrugged.

"I hear the stories of intrigue and violence, from far back in the old days of court life, and wonder. You've brought us all back to the past, son of Atrus. When the blessings are forgotten--then we are dead. My life means nothing."

" _Blessed are the humble,_ " Sirrus quoted, sneering. " _Blessed are the meek._ For when one man dares disturb complacency, they shall die by the droves."

The king bowed his head and closed his eyes, pain lining his face. "What do you think you are teaching us, son of Atrus?" His voice was faint with immense tiredness. "Your kind has come. Your kind has gone. Greed leads to nothing but meaningless destruction." He lifted his head again. "Look at this. No man died to furnish this room. It was a gift from the heart of the people. And yet you still think there is need for want."

Sirrus laughed, soft and short and harsh. "And how much of it is holograms, o king?"

"Does it matter?" The king rose and paced to the window, then reached through the hard stone of the wall and clicked a switch. The room became bare, simple, the walls rough stone; the crests and the jewels and the cases of fine things vanished. "It is only for the eyes."

"Are you done, old man?" Sirrus said, impatient, and shed his cloak, revealing the finery he'd worn at his trial, deep blue velvet and cloth-of-gold and finespun lace at his throat. And, too, the dagger at his waist, a treasured blade he'd had made for him on Osmoian, kriss-rippled in an elegant wave--not sheathed, for it could not be.

The king looked at him, then paced back to the table and raised his wineglass as Sirrus unlatched the dagger from his belt.

"A toast, young Sirrus, to my daughter Ananis, fairest and most noble maid of Aspermere."

"A toast," Sirrus said through gritted teeth, then closed the distance between them and shoved the fine blade into the king's heart.

"To...her goodness," the king choked out.

"I didn't kill her," Sirrus whispered, sheer pain driving his words. "Achenar did."

"I know." Old Bedaiyon dropped to his knees, his voice fading. "You...loved her."

Sirrus felt his chest clench with outrage, pain, pure shock, but before he could find words to curse the old man, he was dead.

Silence fell in the bare room.

"Hear ye," Sirrus whispered, his composure returning as quickly as it had left. "Hear ye. The king is dead."

He bent to retrieve the dagger and washed it carefully in a fingerbowl, making sure the blade had not been damaged.

"Long live the king," he hissed, then shined off a speck with his thumb and returned his dagger to the belt. He surveyed the room, but there was no gold, no jewels, no treasure without the holography, only a humble simplicity that reminded him far, far too much of his parents.

"Not even anything to take away," he said softly. "Let it burn."

"Are you quite done already?" Achenar called sullenly from the door.

"Quite," Sirrus drawled. "Let's leave before things get overheated."

* * *

Sirrus and Achenar stood on a hill some way from the palace to watch it burn. Distinct mobs of people were running about the foundations, some trying to put out the fire, most trying to kill each other. The flag on the central tower teetered, then fell, torn down by the followers of one of the counts.

"This was pointless," said Achenar, and linked. The book dropped to the white grass.

"Who cares?" Sirrus called after his vanished brother. "They're just people in books."

The wind shifted, wafting the smoke over towards the snow-capped mountains. Blood and ashes stained the white marble of the palace. The Queen's Guard marched in circles, extracting loyalty to the vanished princesses. A lone woman in a dove gray traveling cloak walked unhassled down the road far away, murmuring the ballad of Sir Holmer under her breath; a copper ring winked on her finger.

Sirrus frowned to hide the wrench in his stomach.

_Let them destroy it. It was worthless anyway. Toys and baubles of mere light, without her._

He turned away from the flames and spoke aloud to the empty hills. "Odd that it gives me no pleasure, Tisha, not like Narayan did. Still." He stroked the ripple-bladed dagger, cleansed from the blood of the king. "They deserved it."


End file.
